Smith Damon had never thought of his mother in the way most people did. She was always some myth, a legend he could never reach. His father thought she was the greatest woman alive, her co workers thought she was the best supervisor they had known. Her friends thought she was spirited and morally perfect.

One thing he still didn't understand was why people kept referring to her as if she was still alive.

Of course he wanted his mother, of course he did. Who wouldn't want a good mother? Someone to hold you and make sure you're okay at the end of the day. He knew his father had to work but it was the lonely nights like these he envied people who had less freedom. Other people had family dinners, he heated up ramen in the microwave because no one taught him how to cook, and last time he tried... it was inedible, to say the least.

Looking into a glass shelving unit his father had bought, he could see the pictures of the strong woman, smiling and laughing. A few of them had all three of them, until of course, the day of her accident. She died by a drunk driver.

It wasn't her fault, she would stay if she could, right? If she loved him she would've tried her very best, wouldn't she? The silence did little to comfort him. With a deep sigh, he furiously wiped his watery eyes and turned on the tv. Surely there was something on that wasn't fake and depressing.

"Why isn't there anything on?" He grumbled, glaring at the screen as if it was It's fault the tv programs they had weren't high quality. He laid back and stared at the ceiling. Smith refused to submit to this endless torture, his stubbornness constantly compared to that of his late mother Jennifer. A strong and perfect individual to the very end.

With another push of motivation, we went to look for newspapers to read. It would do better than nothing.

He looked through the old papers his dad kept and stiffened slightly when he saw the headline.

'Drunk driver Jennifer Smith hits and kills a family of 3'

He wanted to feel something, anything really. Shock, despair, anger, regret, anything! But the empty void just continued to grow. Why did she do it? If she loved their family, surely she wouldn't do it on purpose. It had to be a mistake. Something.. a trick. A lie.

Smith frantically scanned the paper for anything suggesting otherwise, but found nothing. He slumped against the navy blue wall of the living room. Everything was a lie, wasn't it? She wasn't perfect.

Suddenly all the experiences when he asked about her made sense. The hesitant responses, which he always contributed to grief. His own dad's brief look of anger and disgust. The guilty looks of her friends, who were mentioned by name in the news article along with their testimonies. They were at the bar with her. They could've....

But would it do anything?

No. It wouldn't change a thing.

She still would've drunken and gotten behind that wheel.

And Smith would still have to live with it.

Although he had no emotion in his chest, the empty void consuming every emotion it could with greed, tears flowed down.

She didn't love him. Not enough to stop herself from driving drunkenly. He had always thought that having no mother was better than having a bad mother, but was it?

That question wasn't answered until the next month. "Smith, I want you to meet my girlfriend." Those words he never thought he would hear. Promptly after, all evidence that his mother ever lived was removed from the house.

All he could do was look at his dad and step mother happy. He couldn't disturb their joy, could he? Of course he wanted a mother, but did he want a mom? Smith could just imagine his friends laughing.

"Do you want a mom or not? Dude, make up your mind!" But it wasn't that simple. Was anything ever that simple?

Guilt would always consume him as he cried himself to sleep a few times a month. He HAD to love his mother, but she KILLED people. And it was HER choice.

Could he ever forgive her? Move on? Accept a replacement?

No. Nothing would ever change. Smith knew he was stuck in this eternal struggle of grief and yearning.